Broken Ashes
by IvyShort
Summary: There are only two certainties in the world. The sun will rise in the east every morning, and peace is doomed to end in war. Multi-chapter. Primarily Royai and Almei, with hints of other pairings sprinkled in throughout.


Bare feet slapped against the icy cobblestones of the streets of Ivanovich, Drachma, creating an eerie echo in the early hours of the morning. She did not dare call for help, or turn to see if she was still being followed – it would be the end of her for sure.

Instead she turned sharply and ducked into an alleyway plastered with half-rotten posters of old propaganda and streaked with graffiti. Footsteps made the little breath she had catch in her throat, and she pressed herself up against the wall, praying that she would not be discovered.

The steps passed and she was safe for the moment. She dared to sigh in relief, but it was empty and soulless – it was only a matter of time until they caught her, after all. Her days of freedom were numbered, so what was the use of optimism? One of the posters ripped free from the wall and floated gently in the crisp night air, and the girl choked back tears. She was alone now. Her fingers found their way under the tattered scarf that covered her head to the thin, white-blonde hair underneath. Tugging a lock free, she felt it catch in the wind.

Hiding was out of the question. Her appearance made sure of that. They would not stop until she was hunted down. They had taken away her entire village already, and nobody knew what had happened to them.

One did not speak their own mind in Drachma nowadays. It had been a long while, if ever, since people had spoken freely.

.

It was late autumn in East City, and they were together yet again. A gentle rain fell over the city, with reports of it worsening throughout the day dampening the mood of most citizens. Despite this, and even though Falman had chosen to stay in the north and Havoc was in and out for physical therapy, they had all managed to celebrate the twenty-fourth birthday of the youngest member of their team.

"You know what you need today, Fuery? A hot date!" roared Havoc, slapping his friend on the back. Caught by surprise, Fuery nearly choked on his water and spent the next several seconds coughing it back up.

"I don't think tha-" he tried to protest in between coughs.

"You're aging, kid," warned Havoc, his tone mockingly serious. "If you don't get a hot date soon, you're going to end up like Breda."

"Hey!" complained the portly redhead through a mouthful of beignet.

"Exactly my point. And since it is your birthday, my good fellow, you may be the first to flirt with the waitress."

"You…But I don't want…" he mumbled, shaking his head in feeble protest.

"Here's your chance, kid! She's coming this way!"

On the other end of the table, Riza looked up from the large tome she had been deepy engrossed in. "Like I said yesterday, sir, there doesn't seem to be a way around this. It's inconvenient, I know, but it's a necessity."

Roy grunted,leaning towards Riza even more. "I had thought this wasn't going to happen until after I became Fuhrer, but I believe you."

"You need to swear that this isn't going to distract you," she sighed.

He smirked, "Grumman's granddaughter doesn't allow me to see her as a distraction, Lieutenant. I doubt there will be any issue."

Fuery's eyes darted to his commanding officers, half curious to know the banter, but both were so engrossed in the middle of some sort of discussion about Ishval, blissfully oblivious to Fuery's unfortunate circumstance and doubtlessly unavailable to elaborate. Falman was no help either, he merely shrugged and muttered something about the statistics of flirting with waitresses.

It's not that the waitress wasn't pretty. In fact, she was quite pretty, which made Fuery even more nervous. She was wearing too much make up and her smile, though large and pearly, was void of any emotion whatsoever, but in all honestly it was surprising Havoc hadn't started flirting the second she asked them if they wanted drinks.

Maybe she liked radios. Fuery doubted it, though he supposed nothing was impossible. No girl he had ever succeeded in talking to had ever had any interest whatsoever in technology. Mind you, that wasn't many. He mustered up the courage to say hello to a girl about twice a year, and when he said it too softly for them to notice, he quickly lost his nerve.

She was only a few tables away now, and Havoc was waving for her while grinning like an idiot.

"Is there something else you'd like?" she asked in a false, cheery voice. In the middle of trying to gather his courage, Fuery felt a sharp elbow dig into his ribs. He dared an accusing glance at Havoc, who merely raised an eyebrow and stuck a cigarette between his teeth.

"I..." Fuery stuttered, looking up at the young woman in genuine terror. She glanced down at him quizzically, some sort of emotion finally sparking in her green eyes. Somewhere, in whatever part of his brain was still managing to function, he noticed how bloodshot they were and the dark circles she had tried too hard to cover up underneath them.

Havoc threw his arms up in defeat. "You're hopeless, Fuery!" he moaned, the unlit cigarette wobbling on his lip. "You can't flirt worth a damn!"

"I'm sorry!" he wailed, wishing desperately that he could just sink into the ground and never have to be in the presence of Jean Havoc ever again. He must have committed some heinous sin, and Havoc was sent from the depths of hell to be his eternal punishment.

Yes, that sounded logical enough. It must be the answer.

Havoc, during this interlude, had somehow managed to engage the girl into conversation, though her side of it seemed to be blushing and shaking her head.

"Are you sure? Not even a lunch date?"

She continued to shake her head, her curly brown ponytail swinging back and forth dangerously close to Fuery's face. "I…I'm awfully busy, I really am flattered, but I don't have any time."

Across the table, Breda very nearly snorted up one of his beignets. "It's not even noon yet! This is a record!" he exclaimed gleefully, only furthering the embarrassment of the waitress.

"Havoc, stop harassing our server," Mustang ordered sternly, his discussion with Hawkeye apparently resolved, though Fuery doubted that they would take more than fifteen minutes to get back on the subject of Ishval. There was always something about it for them to talk about, whether it be the rationing of food or the exact amount of military presence that would reassure the Ishvalans that they were not going to attack but maintained enough order to ensure the safety of the builders.

Fuery's eyes fell to the blonde woman a few seats down. She seemed off somehow, stiffer than usual, her lips thin and pressed tightly together as she returned to her book. Tense, that was the word. Fuery had worked with Hawkeye long enough to know that when she was tense, she was annoyed. The only question was what exactly the General had done to push her this time.

He sighed. He didn't like it, but it was hardly his business.

Obviously grateful for the diversion of attention, the waitress quickly retreated to the kitchen. Fuery wondered briefly if she would be okay with him tagging along, but decided against it. If he moved, he might be noticed again, and that was exactly what he didn't want.

Leaning back in his chair, Mustang smirked at Havoc. "I guarantee we're going to have a hard time getting dessert now," he droned lazily, "I can't believe you made such a beginner mistake. You tip well before you flirt, not when your plate is half finished. Women are much more agreeable with a few extra cenz in their pocket. It's amazing you get any dates at all."

Havoc sputtered for several seconds before resorting to glaring at Mustang, drawing a lighter out of his pocket and finally lighting the cigarette in his mouth.

"You're trying to quit, Havoc," warned Hawkeye, barely sparing him a disapproving glance. Muttering yet again, Havoc crushed the cigarette under his boot. Going against Mustang was one story. Going against Hawkeye was just plain stupid – even Havoc knew that, especially after the_ incident _several years before. Fuery shuddered at the recollection.

"It appears you haven't scared her all the way to Xing, Havoc. Congratulations," Mustang droned, jerking his head towards the waitress, now a few tables away taking the order of a middle aged couple. Fuery paled and his eyes darted to Hawkeye – who had obviously elected to ignore the situation and instead focus her efforts on a heavy tome of Ishvalan mystique.

A thought seemed to occur to Hawkeye, who looked up at Havoc and opened her mouth as if to say something. A second later, she closed it again and smiled, raising her book again and jotting something down on a notepad. For a second, the stiffness relaxed and Fuery could see her again at ease with her comrades. Curious, he leaned over for a better look.

_Call Rebecca. _

"Excuse me, Miss Cassandra," Mustang began, waving her over to the table and flashing her his most charming smile. "Could I trouble you for a plate of beignets?"

Visibly relieved, she smiled back and nodded, her curly ponytail bobbing up and down. "I'll bring some right out."

"How'd you know her name?" asked Havoc, scowling.

"She has a nametag, you dumbass."

"Hey!"

.

Only a few more minutes and she would have been in her bunk, but fate was forever her enemy.

Shaking her hair out of her eyes – it was getting too long now, she'd either have to tie it back or cut it off again soon – the guard scanned the horizon one more time, leaning far enough out of the tower that she felt the harsh winter wind that was more and more common every day. The idiot private that was supposed to relieve her was late, and she was getting increasingly pissed off as each minute ticked by.

She knew all too well what came with winter in northern Xing.

"Corporal!" she barked down at the young solider in front of the huge gate, "Figure approaching on the southwest road!"

He nodded up at her and shifted the shotgun in his hands, clicking the safety off and making sure there was a round in the chamber. It wasn't like the Northern Warehouse was the center of Xing's military, but with the trouble brewing to the west, they could never be too careful.

Squinting through the sights of her rifle at the tiny, stumbling figure, she again leaned into the howling winds. Several seconds later, she spotted the royal crest on his sleeve and drew back into the tower and sighed, unsure of whether to feel relieved or disappointed. After flicking the safety back on, she stuck her hand out and gave the guard at the gate the all clear.

The trapdoor behind her creaked open, and out clambered a young private that barely managed to pull himself up into the tower for his watch.

"S-sergeant Teng!" stuttered the private, paling. "I'm sorry I'm late!"

The sergeant rolled her eyes and returned his salute. "Be punctual next time," she growled, shoving the rifle in his hands and starting down the ladder.

"Sergeant?"

"What, private?" she snapped, halfway down the ladder and even more irritable than usual. She lifted her head a fraction of an inch, a single dark eye glinting dangerously.

The color drained from his face again and he shook his head.

The terrified newbie froze under her glare, eternally grateful for the fact she slammed the trapdoor shut a second later. He shuddered. The men in the mess hall hadn't been kidding. Female soldiers were bitches, the lot of them. What woman would ever sign up for the army anyway? That was a man's job. Women belonged at home.

Meanwhile, an exhausted Ruiling Teng collapsed on her bunk, asleep before she bothered to change out of her uniform. She knew what the private had wanted to say. The all-white mourning garb of the messenger had given it away immediately. A new family crest was raised in the halls for the first time in two hundred years.

The emperor was dead. The Yao heir had come to power.

.

Fuery hadn't been so grateful for a meal to be over since the _incident_.

After the poor waitress had returned with the beignets, Mustang had offered the plate to Hawkeye and glanced at the book she was so wrapped up in. A stricken look crossed his face and he had muttered something about marriage before pushing the plate towards Breda. The air was suddenly so thick with tension between the General and his lieutenant that Fuery could have sworn he could have cut it with a knife.

Oblivious as always, Havoc had continued to flirt with Cassandra. After the sixth refusal for "coffee sometime", she had walked away and not returned for another twenty minutes. Within three, Breda had polished off the second plate of beignets and turned his attention to harassing his coworker. Trapped between a brooding Havoc and an annoyed Hawkeye, Fuery again wondered exactly what atrocity he had committed to deserve this.

Luckily for him, it was delivery day, and as the most junior officer on the team, it was his job to run all over headquarters delivering the week's less crucial paperwork to sleep-deprived secretaries with murderous looks. It was hardly his favorite duty, but it got him out of the office. Any job that got him away from a very pissed off Hawkeye was a good job to have, especially now that Havoc was back to work.

"Master Sergeant!" Fuery heard from behind him. He smiled and turned around, relieved to see someone that day that didn't have a death wish.

"Sheska!" he said brightly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Sheska was one of the few women he could talk to without fainting (his mother was another).

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and reached the large bag that was slung over her shoulder, pulling out a large tome that she held out to Fuery nervously. "I found this at the bookstore. I know you like electronics, so I thought you'd like it."

Kain grinned, tucking the book under his arm. "Thanks, Sheska. I'll give it back as soon as I'm finished with it."

The brunette flushed bright red and pushed her glasses up. "You can just keep it, that's all right. I-it's your birthday, after all. I just didn't have any paper to wrap it with."

He shook his sleeve back to check his watch and grimaced, dreading delivering his last packet of paperwork.

"Are you late for something, Master Sergeant? If you need to be somewhere, I should probably go too," squeaked Sheska, obviously flustered.

He shrugged. "I've still got a few minutes to talk," Fuery replied, mentally planning the quickest route to the final office. Maybe if he ran, he would be able to fit in another couple minutes of conversation.

His stomach twisting with butterflies, he interrupted Sheska quickly, his words barely managing to form garbled sentences. "Are you free Saturday? There's a new bookstore on Magnolia Street and I thought it'd be more fun to go with you."

_Oh, Havoc was going to murder him. _

She stopped dead and Fuery could feel a blush identical to hers rising in his cheeks. Too late, her realized his blunder. "I-I mean, you don't hav-"

The flustered private took a shaky breath and a large grin lit up her face. "Sure!"

A warm feeling spread across his chest and he felt like whooping with joy. All things aside, this was certainly one of his better birthdays.

He couldn't wait to tell his mother. She would be so proud.

.

"Would you care for a ride home, lieutenant? It's quite late, after all."

"Don't trouble yourself, sir," she warned, sliding one of the drawers of her desk open and grabbing her umbrella. If Roy hadn't known better, he would not have noticed the soft clip in her voice. "Rain isn't an issue."

"It's quite nasty outside. The least I can do is keep you dry."

She turned away to pull on her coat. The soft _pitter-patter _of the raindrops did not do anything to ease the silence. "If you insist," she lamented quietly, following him out the door. This wasn't unusual – in fact, it was more unusual of him not to take her home. But, still they played the game. Even a few minutes in a car off duty could infringe on fraternization laws, so every day he had a different excuse, and every day she said the same thing.

Eastern Command was long empty by the time they left it. Most soldiers had left hours ago, home to dinner with their families or off with buddies for a long night at an off base bar. She stayed a step behind him as usual, glancing back every so often. Hypersensitivity was normal for snipers, especially one of her caliber. The rumble of the car's engine did little to lighten the mood as well, and the short drive to her apartment was silent as both of them opened their mouths to say something and closed them again as they lost their nerve.

"We can't avoid it forever, you know," she said as Roy turned the engine off. He sighed and took off his hat, flinging it in the backseat haphazardly. She knew she had to tell him, sooner rather than later, before everything went to hell. She swallowed around the lump in her throat, hoping to quell the butterflies in her stomach.

"I know," he replied, startling her as he looked her in the eyes. "It's why they refuse half our aid, after all. Miles was right - it gives them an excuse for stubborn pride. There's no way around it."

Riza lost her nerve, breaking eye contact with her superior. "I didn't want it to be true. People…" she trailed off, rubbing her hands together in her lap as if to rid them of dirt. Roy nodded, leaning forward on the steering wheel. "I've done a lot of research to find a loophole. There's no way we're getting out of this one unless you feel the need to become a priest."

He chuckled, humorless and dry. "I'll give the old man a call tomorrow, then. See what he can do."

"It's for the best," she said, bending over to pick up her bag. Bitterness laced her voice under the remorse and dread. Roy wondered briefly if she was even aware of it, since she kept her emotions so closely in check. "Goodnight, General."

"Goodnight," Roy replied as Riza pushed open the door and shook her umbrella. The door closed a little too forcefully and he winced, knowing she was upset.

He just wished he knew what exactly it was she was so worked up about.

Grimacing, he turned the key in the ignition, finally headed home. It had been a long day, and his head was spinning far too much to be relieved by the bottle of whiskey in the back of his cabinet. No, what he really needed was a good night's rest.

Roy chuckled to himself. A good night's rest. He couldn't even remember when that had happened last. The dull roar of the engine died again, and Roy shoved the keys into his pocket, forgetting to lock the car in his fatigue. Much to his dismay, however, the phone call he had promised to make the next morning kept him awake most of the night. The bitter tang of the coffee the next morning did very little to alleviate the splitting headache or pit of dread in his stomach.

By the look of the bags under his lieutenant's eyes, she had suffered from the same sleepless night.

**Welcome to Broken Ashes! I'm going to warn you now - while I have four completed chapters at the moment, this fic will have extremely spotty updates. My goal is once a month, but that may not always happen. Don't stop sending _Update soon!_ messages - those actually help me get shit done. **

**Any initial reactions? Suggestions are always welcome!**


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